


Behind Closed Doors (Part 2)

by jennyjar



Category: Doc Martin (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-03-30 03:30:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13941654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennyjar/pseuds/jennyjar
Summary: There is no engagement without a ring.  What might have happened after the supper Martin cooked in episode "Nowt So Queer"





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Whatever you can recognize, is not mine.  
Warning: English is neither my first, nor second language. Proceed at your own risk.

*****  
He is doing the dishes, and Louisa’s volunteered to help. The task takes much longer than it is strictly necessary, because Martin keeps peering down at her and, as a result, lathering and rinsing same plates without noticing it. He really can’t help himself - she stands too close, and he is fascinated by the little smile that tags at her lips, when time after time she pauses drying a plate to readjusts the ring on her finger. 

Finally, Martin leans in and brushes her lips with his. Which is a mistake, because he isn’t done with the dishes, and they haven’t had the dessert yet. His hands are dripping soapy water, and he has an apron on, but Louisa responses eagerly, and now they are kissing in earnest, and all the apples and cheese and still unwashed cutlery are completely forgotten.

Midkiss Martin hoists her on the kitchen counter and freezes momentary, as if surprised by his own boldness. But Louisa drops the towel, grips his jacket lapels, and breathes out, “Oh, Martin,” when she manages to unlock her lips from his for a split of a second. Any modicum of the resolve to slow down, which Martin might have had left, evaporates at the sound of her voice. Blindly, he shuts the tap and clears a bit of space on the counter around her bum with one hand, while his other hand is on Louisa’s back, keeping her steady. 

As he begins to map her face with his lips, gradually progressing downward to the long column of her neck and the wedge of her collar bone, Louisa’s breathing quickens, and she lets go of the lapels. She slides her hands up to his shoulders and then further, wrapping them around his neck. The memories of the night, spent together, most likely still fresh in her mind, she lets him take the lead. She just tilts her head backward to allow Martin a better access and tugs him a bit closer.  
That is all the encouragement he needs. Without interrupting his ministration, he takes a small step forward, and Louisa spreads her knees to accommodate him. However, as he moves, his shoe gets caught in the towel, which Louisa dropped earlier, and he staggers a bit. Trying to brace himself and not to crush her, he sticks his hand out, aiming for the countertop, but catches Louisa’s thigh instead.

With his face buried in the V of her sweater, created by a couple of undone buttons at the top, he is too preoccupied at the momen to notice the difference between the hardness of the countertop and the softness of Louisa’s thigh under his palm. But he does react to her moan. 

“Alright?” Martin raises his head to look at her. 

Louisa’s face is flushed, and it takes a moment for her eyes to focus. Mesmerized, Martin stares at her, until she murmurs, “Don’t stop, Martin, just don’t…” and tugs him closer still. It’s not exactly an answer, but it looks like he doesn’t even remember the question. Slowly, he captures her lips with his, and they are kissing again. 

When a long while later they break up for air, Martin’s “may I?” sounds a bit winded. 

“I already said yes a couple of days ago, Martin,” Louisa answers quietly, and he responds, “Hmm.” 

Louisa runs his fingers through the hair on the back of his head, and Martin inhales sharply. He gazes at her, mesmerized once again, forgetting what exactly he is asking permission for. She smiles at him, and Martin swallows nervously, ducks his head, and looks away. When he returns his gaze to Louisa, the expression on his face is a mixture of bewilderment and horror. 

“Martin?” Louisa frowns.

He clears his throat, “Erm… I…” and jerks slightly away from her, his eyes darting around the kitchen. It seems that suddenly he has taken stock of their current situation, and is desperately trying to figure out how to fix it. Maybe because he’s just realized that his hand on Louisa’s back has found its way under her sweater and is moments away from unclasping her bra. Maybe because his other hand, which he’s used to brace himself, is in fact clenching Louisa’s thigh, and has moved significantly forward, crumpling and taking the soft material of her skirt with it and baring the pale skin so far up her leg that another shift of his fingers could expose her underwear. Maybe because the V at the top of Louisa’s sweater has gotten so deep that the black lace of her bra peeks over the edge of the sweater. And in the meantime, Louisa is perched on the kitchen counter, right in front of the window and only a few feet away from the back door, which is used by most inhabitants of the village at their will, with blissfully unawareness of a concept of privacy… 

As if finally making a decision, in one swift move Martin scoops her off of the counter. He then falters, peering at her, and chocks out, “May I?”

With armful of Louisa, his face expression softens, so she smiles and responds with a kiss that lasts through the kitchen, along the hallway and the surgery reception area, all the way to the bottom of the stairs.

“You know, you don’t have to carry me around all the time, Martin,” Louisa whispers, her lips ghosting over his.

“Yes,” he nods, slightly readjusts his hold on her, and heads up the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

*****  
Whether it is from almost running up the stairs with Louisa in his arms or from all the kissing they’ve being doing on the way, but Martin is out of breath as he gently seats her on the edge of the bed and slides to his knees in front of her. 

Safely away from the risk of being a subject of prying eyes, suddenly he is hesitant. He drops his hands down and looks away, “Hmm.”  
Louisa touches his face, “Martin, what is it?”

He looks at her, swallows, and says quietly, “We were supposed to have apples and cheese for dessert.”

Louisa laughs at that, but seeing a frown on Martin’s face she reins in her mirth and with just a hint of a smile slowly begins, “So, if you’d rather…” As she speaks, she   
takes a hold of one of the undone buttons on her sweater and makes a motion of redoing it.

Martin’s eyes jump from her face to her fingers on the button and back to her face again. He gulps, shakes his head, and covers those fingers with his hand.   
“No, I’d like…hmm,” he leans in, “I…” and kisses her.

When they come out for air, Louisa’s sweater is completely open, and Martin looks like there is only one thing on his mind, and it is not any kind of dessert.

“I like your decision,” she smiles at him, “but, Martin, we can’t go on like this.”

Martin’s face expression goes from enthralled to confused to dismayed to resigned in the matter of seconds. He opens his mouth, closes it again, and finally dares, “Louisa?”

She tries very hard not to laugh. “I mean this, Martin,” she pokes at the bib of the apron, he is still wearing. “Don’t you think bedroom should be an apron free zone?”  
Martin’s ears turn bright red, and he nods stiffly, “Yes.” 

Once the apron is off, he gets up to place it on the dresser. 

“Jacket?” it is more of a request than a question, as Louisa watches him with a little smile.

Martin nods again.

Next, without prompting, he takes care of the shoes, the tie, and the cufflinks. Every now and again he glances at Louisa and seems to start moving just a bit faster.

Martin is in the process of rolling up the sleeves, when he steps back to her side, but Louisa stops him, “Shirt?”

He halts mid motions and cocks his head, “Umm... there is no need…umm…”

“No need?” for a moment Louisa looks confused.

“I…” Martin starts, then stops and swallows, glancing down at her. “I… hmm…”

Louisa narrows her eyes at him. “Very well, if there is no need…” Once again, she makes a motion of rebuttoning her sweater.

“No, no!” Martin exclaims. “I…hmm.” With an air of resignation, he begins to unbutton his shirt. 

The request for pants removal elicits a deep sigh from Martin, but he just ducks his head and hurriedly submits. 

By the time he is wearing only the vest and the boxers, he is so impatient to get back to Louisa that after a short fight with a hanger, he admits the defeat and simply throws the pants on the dresser, next to the apron. Once again, he steps to the bed, but halts surprised. He looks quizzically at Louisa, who has moved away from the edge. She is sitting in the middle of the bed, casually leaning back with her legs folded under her. She has already removed her sweater, and her black lacy bra pulls Martin’s gaze like a magnet.

“Martin?” she is looks at him expectantly. He swallows, ducks his head, and with a soft “hmm” moves his gaze to Louisa’s face. “You are so beautiful,” comes out of his mouth in a whisper, and his ears turn bright red again. 

“Thank you, Martin,” Louisa responds softly, lowers her eyes, and begin fiddling with her ring. “Are you joining me?” she glances up at him.

“Umm, but…” his gaze moves from her, to the edge of the bed, to her again, “it might be easier… I mean, more convenient…hmm…”

“As much as I enjoy having you on your knees, I thought we might try something different, Martin,” Louisa pats the cover next to her.

“But I... our size difference…I will squash you…” uneasy at the prospect, he shifts from one foot to the other.

“Try not to,” she smiles, and he squirms a little under her gaze. “Would you like to give me a hand?” Louisa dips her head slightly, indicating either her bra, or her flowery skirt, its soft fabric rumpled from Martin’s heavy-handed treatment earlier. Martin exhales loudly and climbs on the bed. “And maybe next time you let me help you with all of that,” she waves in the general direction of his discarded clothes. Distracted by close proximity to Louisa, Martin nods, seeming ready to agree to anything she asks for at the moment. And then he kisses her.

There are a few awkward moments, and Martin is clearly not comfortable, and at times he is completely at a loss as to what to do with his long limbs, and his strained “may I?” keeps getting buried in a flurry of all the activities and Louisa’s soft pleas. But, with Louisa’s help, he manages, and at the end she moans his name, and he grunts, “Oh, Louisa,” and they collapse next to each other, sweaty, breathless, and sated…


	3. Chapter 3

3.  
While Louisa uses the bathroom, Martin takes some time to catch his breath. He lies across the bed, almost smiling, and listens to the sound of splashing water. 

“Bugger,” he suddenly remembers something. He quickly gets up and puts on his vest and boxers. He glances at the crumpled pants, grunts, and runs downstairs to the surgery. 

Once there, Martin rummages through the wall cabinet, until he finds what he is looking for. Before heading back, he locks the front and kitchen doors. At the sink full of soapy water and some unwashed cutlery and such, he hesitates, grunts once more, but then, with a deep sight, moves on.

When he comes back to the bedroom, Louisa is waiting for him. She is leaning on the door frame, her arms crossed on her chest. She gives him her best “teacher’s” stern look. Of course, “the look” would’ve worked much better, were she not wearing nothing but Martin’s wrinkled shirt, very sparsely buttoned at that. Martin freezes, openly staring at her.

“You were not trying to sneak off, were you?” Louisa asks. “From your own house?”

He gulps and quickly responds, “No, no!” Then, he lowers his gaze. “Locked up…and…” He opens his hand to show her three foil-wrapped small packets on his palm.

Louisa blushes, “It is very ambitious of you, Martin.”

He ducks his head, “That was the last one I had,” he waves vaguely to the bed and looks away from Louisa. “Hmm…”

“I like it when you are so thoughtful,” slowly, she walks up to him and puts her hand on his chest, “and thorough. So very thorough, Martin.”

He exhales loudly and peers down at her. “Louisa?”

She runs her hand across his chest. “Martin?” She then moves her hand to the back of his neck, pulls him down a little, and kisses the underside of his jaw.

The three packets fall to the floor, as both his hands dive under the shirt, Louisa is kind of wearing, and he leans in to capture her lips with his. The kiss quickly becomes heated, and very soon, without breaking the contact, he is walking her backwards into the bedroom. As the back of Louisa legs catch the edge of the bed, Martin carefully helps her down and ends up on his knees in front of her. Louisa giggles...

A long while later, when they are settled for the night, Louisa remembers something. “There is no need?”

“What?” Martin arches a brow at her.

“You said there was no need to take off your shirt…”

“Yes.” His arm, which gently holds Louisa curled into his side, stiffens. 

“What did you mean? Need?” Louisa persists.

Martin swallows and, trying his best under circumstances –in bed, wearing nothing but his boxers - to project a ‘doctor mode’, begins to explain. “The mechanics of male arousal is…”

“Don’t,” she interrupts him. “I don’t want to hear a medical lecture right about now. You know it.”

“Yes,” he nods stiffly, but stops at that.

“Martin?” she prompts.

He sighs and says very quietly, “See, there is no need, because every time I look at you, I…hmm…” pointedly, he stares at the ceiling, “And when I touch you…hmm… ”

“You what, Martin?” she almost snaps, “Martin?” And then it dawns on her. “Oh.” She blushes. A few long moments pass before she raises herself on the elbow to examine his face. “Every time?”

He closes his eyes, sighs, and nods.

“Oh,” she repeats. 

His ears brighten. “Not when I am treating you as a doctor,” suddenly, he rushes to clarify. “Medically…professionally…hmm.”

She smiles. “Of course, Martin.” She chews on her lip for a short while, before pressing on, “But what about when there is only sort of a brush, not truly a touch? Or when you hold my hand? Or when you just hug me, like now?”

He does that thing of his - half nod, half shrug, and sighs again. “But…umm,” he hesitates, “I am not… I will not…” He looks intently at the ceiling, “I can control any…imprudent urges…”

She smiles. “Oh Martin, I understand.” Then adds thoughtfully, “It’s actually normal. And it is flattering.”

“Bloody nuisance,” he grumbles. “And I am working on it…”

“Don’t work too hard,” Louisa say, and it doesn’t sound as playful as she probably intends it to.

He glances at her, and his ears seem to turn bright red permanently.

Louisa lies back down, and for a while it seems like they both are drifting off to sleep, when suddenly she says, “But, Martin, you talk about…this,” she waives vaguely between the two of them, “as if it is only about…mechanics, needs and,” she hesitates, “urges...” She slowly slides her hand along Martin’s bare rib cage. He stiffens instantaneously. “Surely, there is more than…mechanics.” 

“Of course,” he hastily agrees. “There is also chemical component, which…”

“Martin!”

“What?” He clearly is confused. 

Louisa slides her hand from his side to his chest. Martin inhales sharply and moves his own hand to hover over hers. “You are not obligated to explain everything away with some scientific…rubbish.”

“It’s not rubbish,” Martin was going for indignation, but Louisa’s fingers, drawing patterns on the bare skin of his chest, make his voice hitch and his message muddle.

“It is, Martin...” She insists, and he is too preoccupied with the movement of her fingers to argue. 

They both watch her hand as it glides over his chest, then down to his stomach. Martin follows it with his hand, almost touching hers. 

“You are amazing…at this,” Louisa continues, glancing at him. “You make me feel…,” she blushes and clears her throat. “So, does this.” her hand skims along the edge of Martin’s boxers, “feel mechanical to you?” 

He seems to have hard time concentrating. “Umm…” is all he manages.

“Martin?” Louisa frowns.

“Yes?” It looks like he is clueless as to what this conversation is about, but he sees the frown deepens on Louisa’s face and tries again. “No?” 

“So, which one is it?” Louisa’s hand now travels slightly over the edge of his boxers. 

Martin swallows hard, “I…Umm…” He is starting to have difficulty breathing, let alone thinking.

“Was it your medical studies that made you think like that?” she contemplates, “because I can’t believe there were a woman, who’d agreed to this silly ‘no need to touch’ notion.” Louisa pauses the movement of her hand and looks at him, “Martin?”

With Louisa’s hand still, Martin exhales shakily and manages to recollect at least some of his reasoning abilities. He glances at his hand hovering over Louisa’s, sighs, and says softly. “Why don’t you tell me what it is that is bothering you, so we can go to sleep. I have… surgery in the morning, you have…”

“Bothering me? That’s how you call it?” Louisa raises herself higher to look down at him. “Of course, I am happy to learn that you touch me for mechanical reasons, and if I want to touch you it’s not necessary, because the mechanics is already taking care of.” Her words are dripping with sarcasm, and she glares at him. “Oh, and not to forget I am emotional due to some premenstrual chemical reaction, and…and…and what we did tonight, twice,” she blushes slightly, “is taking care of the urges! Did I get everything right? Or there is some physics I missed?” Louisa snatches her hand away from Martin’s body.

Martin stares at her with his mouth agape. “Umm…”

She waits, but nothing else is coming. She puffs loudly, turns away from him, and moves to the other side of the bed, leaving plenty of space between them. Martin slowly puts his hand on the spot on his stomach, where Louisa’s hand was just a short while ago, and glances at her back. “Louisa?”

“Go to sleep, Martin,” she says into the pillow. “Just… go to sleep.”

With an expression of total confusion on his face, Martin stares at Louisa’s bare shoulder, peering over the edge of the blanket. He opens his mouth, closes it again, and stares some more. Finally, he sighs and murmurs, “Yes…” 

Martin wakes up, when it is still dark outside. He scowls at the clock, but as he moves his eyes away from it to the top of Louisa’s head, the expression on his face softens. It looks like Louisa has shifted back to his side of the bed sometime during the night, and currently snores softly, tucked into the crook of his arm. He almost smiles, as he watches her. Then he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. 

Martin makes an effort to fall asleep, but it seems that the sound of Louisa’s snoring is keeping him awake. And so, after a while, he opens his eyes again to look at her. By now the night sky begin to brighten up, dissipating the darkness of the room. He smiles, shifts a little to make himself comfortable and to have a better view of Louisa’s face, and spends the rest of the night simply watching her…


End file.
